


If You Go Down to the Woods Today

by MugetsuPipefox



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: ...or is it, Gen, Human AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MugetsuPipefox/pseuds/MugetsuPipefox
Summary: AU where Pitch Black is a cryptid, and Jack has made it his sworn duty to hunt him down
Relationships: Jack Frost & Nicholas St. North, Jack Frost & Sanderson Mansnoozie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	If You Go Down to the Woods Today

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa fic for @apropoptosis on tumblr! Happy holidays everyone!

Jack is halfway through packing when he hears the telltale creak of the floorboards outside his room. He immediately knows who it is by the sounds of deliberately quiet footsteps, as if the source is trying to be stealthy, but that’s kind of an impossible task when you’re a man as big as Nicholas St. North. Still, Jack grants him mercy and pretends he doesn’t notice, instead shoving Jamie’s cryptid book into his backpack, and then checking to make sure the batteries in the torch are still good. It might be worth bringing some spares, he thinks, just in case.

In the corner of his eye, North loiters in the doorway. He’s given up all pretences of being unheard after seeing that Jack’s lamp is still on. He looks at Jack, then to the pile of things scattered on his bed, and then to the backpack.

“You are not sleeping,” he observes.

Jack doesn’t bother to hold back his smile as he shoves his power-bank into one of the front pockets – you never know when your phone is going to mysteriously die, after all. “I’m aware.”

North makes that face he does when he’s trying to be Authoritative™, and Jack is being deliberately uncooperative. “Is nearly midnight.”

Jack doesn’t have a bedtime – and it’s one of the better things about living with North; the guy gives him room to breathe, and in return Jack does his best not to disappoint him (because there is literally no worse punishment than having North look at you with his Disappointed Face). Still, he’s normally at least starting to settle down around now, and North’s confusion is to be expected.

That doesn’t stop Jack from continuing to be uncooperative. “Yep,” he tugs the zip closed and slings the bag over his shoulder.

North narrows his eyes suspiciously, and takes in the rest of the room. His eyes land on the pile of laundry on the chair – yet to be put away – and the framed photo of the sister Jack only half remembers on the desk.

“You are not running away,” he concludes, sounding confused.

The thought is enough to put a grimace on Jack’s face. He’s been in and out of foster homes since he was fourteen, and run away from nearly all of them at least once. He’d long since given up hope of regaining anything close to what he’d lost by the time North took him in. And it’s not perfect – not when Jack is trying to compare it to an idealised life he can’t even remember – but he’s long since decided North and his... unusual group of friends are the only family he’ll ever need again. The very idea that he would take it all for granted and run away from the best thing to ever happen to him is absurd.

“And give up Phil’s cooking? Absolutely not,” he says instead of any of this. Because even after a year of living here, he’s still not very good at showing North just how much he means to him. He’s pretty sure North knows anyway, given the soft look that settles on his face.

“Jack,” North says, exasperated and entirely fond, “what are you doing?”

Jack snatches a long, hooked stick from its place against the wall. He’s had it for as long as he can remember. He leans it casually against his shoulder, and grins. “I’m gonna hunt down the Bogeyman.”

North stares at him. Blinks. Stares some more. Some convoluted series of expressions crosses his face before he settles on a frown. “Bogeyman is not real.” It comes out sounding like a question.

But Jack, who has been spending entirely too much time with Jamie, is prepared for this response. “Can you prove it?”

North raises a challenging brow. “Can _you?_ ”

Jack pointedly jostles his bag and holds up his phone in his free hand. “Not yet.”

North crosses his arms. He will have to be appeased if Jack doesn’t want to climb out the window – he has completely blocked off the doorway. “How do you intend to get this proof?”

Jack shrugs. “He’s supposed to live in the woods. So I’m going to the woods.”

“In middle of night?”

“Well I don’t think he’s gonna be around during the day, right?”

“You are not going into woods by yourself in middle of night,” North says in his Dad Voice™. And normally it’s enough to make Jack give in, since he rarely uses it and when he does it’s for sensible things like ‘No you cannot burn your homework in backyard we have fireplace’ or ‘No you can’t just go around with knife in shoe you might stab yourself, here I made you holster’.

But Jack has spent all week sharing conspiracy theories with Jamie and he Will Not Be Stopped.

“I’m not going alone,” Jack says, and holds out a hand.

Baby Tooth (Tooth’s ‘pet’ hummingbird, so called because she dotes on her like an actual child) flutters over to land in his hair. He’s bird-sitting, since Tooth has a dental conference or some equally nerdy dental thing going on, and couldn’t take BT on the plane. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t want him taking her into the woods in the middle of the night to hunt down a monster but eh. What Tooth doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“Baby Tooth is coming. Right, BT?”

Baby Tooth chirps and fluffs her feathers. Jack decides that’s a yes.

“Jack,” North starts.

“If you’re so sure the Bogeyman isn’t real, then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” There aren’t even wolves in these woods. The worst thing he might run into besides the Bogeyman is a tree.

North very obviously wants to say no. He also very obviously knows that if he does Jack will just sneak out later. “What if Katherine-?”

“Katherine,” Jack counters, “who has a thesis to write?” She’d honestly probably say yes if he asked, and would even drag her best friend along for the ride. The only person in town who likes stories as much if not more than Jamie is Katherine. But she is also super busy with college, and the last thing she needs right now is her foster brother dragging her out into the woods chasing cryptids.

North has no comeback for that one.

“Come on, North,” Jack does not whine. “You know I’ll be fine.” He’s spent several months at a time living on the streets – a fugitive hiding from social services. He knows how to handle himself, and when to pick a fight or run.

“Is not point,” North sighs, because it’s not. It’s probably something to do with responsible parenting or whatever. “If you can find adult to go with you, I will give permission.”

Ah, a compromise. Well, Jack supposes, he can work with this. He quickly opens his contacts on his phone and starts scrolling.

Tooth? No. Dentist thing.

Bunny? Absolutely not. Probably asleep right and will literally kill him if he wakes him up.

Phil? No. Phil is with the Fun Police.

North himself? No, as much as North would probably enjoy it. He’s got that big landscaping project due in a few days, and also has about as much stealth as a landslide.

Sandy?

Oh.

_ Yes. _

_ Sandy. _

The little guy is the quietest person Jack knows. He doesn’t even talk, communicating solely in sign language (which Jack is slowly learning), and emojis. He’s got a mischievous streak to rival Jack’s, and, just for bonus points, Jack is, like, 90% sure the guy is nocturnal.

He quickly shoots off a text.

_ Jack: Hey, Sandman! Wanna hunt the Bogeyman with me? I’ll bring snacks! _

He gets a reply nearly instantly: a thumbs up, and a bunch of emoji faces that tell the story of a man who is very excited for a midnight stroll through the woods. Or maybe just excited for snacks. It’s hard to say.

Jack flips the phone around victoriously so North can see the screen. “Sandy’s coming.”

North deflates in reluctant acceptance, and steps aside so the doorway is clear. “Alright,” he concedes. “Be careful. Call if you get lost.”

They both know that won’t happen. No one knows the Burgess woods as well as Jack does. Still, he appreciates the sentiment, and promises anyway.

Sandy meets him out front ten minutes later. Standing under the streetlight in his bright yellow jumper, he looks like a very tiny star. For a moment, Jack is worried that the way he almost seems to glow will tip off any potential Bogeyman they find, but the fear proves unfounded when Sandy steps out of the light and fades to a dull mustard. He waves excitedly as Jack crosses the grass to him, and then they’re off, walking the short distance from North’s place to the edge of the woods.

They pause at the tree line. Jack gently coaxes Baby Tooth to his shoulder so he can flip his hood up over his white hair, and Sandy takes the opportunity to fish through the backpack. He pulls out a blueberry muffin and starts happily munching away on it.

“Okay, Sandy,” Jack flicks the torch on and shines it between the trees. All he sees are more rows of trees. “Here’s the plan: most of the rumours say he’s supposed to be somewhere beyond the lake, so that’s where we’re going. Keep an eye out for anything out of place. Jamie said that Pippa heard that he lives in a hole in the ground under a rotting bed frame.”

Sandy takes another bite of his muffin and nods.

“You ready?” Jack holds out his phone. “You’re on camera duty.”

Sandy looks up at him, and his expression grows very serious. He quickly finishes the last few bites, wipes his hands on his pants, and takes the phone. Together, they step into the woods.

It’s much darker under the trees; the canopy blocks out almost all of the moonlight. It’s pretty much exactly how Jack hoped it’d be – the darker it is, he reasons, the more likely they are to find the Bogeyman.

The whole thing has been the favourite topic among the kids for weeks. Jack’s heard every variation of the story so far, mostly because Jamie is a walking encyclopaedia of cryptid facts, and Jack has always been an enabler of weird behaviour. For the most part, though, they share three simple facts:

  1. The Bogeyman is a tall humanoid monster
  2. The Bogeyman lives deep in the woods (usually under a rotting bed frame)
  3. The Bogeyman eats kids’ fear



It was really no surprise when ‘Bogeyman’ became everyone’s favourite game. But Jamie isn’t satisfied with just playing pretend, not when there’s a possibility that these rumours are based in fact. And since Jamie can’t go running around in the woods at night, Jack will just have to do it for him.

Somewhere to their left, a stick cracks. Jack swings the torch beam towards the sound, illuminating a patch of grass. There’s no sign of anything that could have made the noise. Baby Tooth hunches, and chirps softly.

_ ‘Maybe a rabbit?’ _ Sandy signs.

Jack eyes the darkness for any movement. _‘Too loud,_ ’ he replies clumsily, not wanting to talk aloud and give themselves away more than the torchlight already does.

There’s another snap somewhere behind them, followed by rustling leaves. Jack and Sandy spin around, but again there’s nothing to find.

Sandy frowns. ‘ _A hare?_ ’

No, Jack thinks. Something that loud has to be a lot bigger than a hare. But maybe they’re just a little jumpy. Maybe it’s nothing.

_ Famous last words _ , he thinks.

Still, there’s no point standing around wasting time. Whatever that noise was, they can’t see it, so they might as well keep going. He gestures for them to continue, and Sandy moves into step with him.

They head further in. It gets impossibly darker. Eventually, Jack can barely see a few metres ahead, even with the torchlight. The sound of unseen movement follows them the whole time, and for every disturbed bush and broken stick, Jack feels himself become more on-edge. There’s anticipation in the air, so strong that even Baby Tooth is not immune, retreating further into the folds of his hood for safety.

Then, finally, he spots something.

They’ve reached a small clearing, lined with rocks and shrubs and dotted with patches of grass. Despite being freed from the canopy’s shelter, it’s almost darker here than the deepest part of the woods. But what really catches Jack’s attention is the half-destroyed wooden bed-frame right in the centre. And under it, he can just see what could be a hole.

“Sandy,” he whispers urgently. He’d better be filming this!

There’s no response from Sandy. Jack glances back over his shoulder in case he simply missed the movement.

The torch dies.

Baby Tooth presses herself against Jack’s neck. He can feel the rapid beating of her tiny heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures her. He smacks the torch against his palm, but the batteries are completely dead. “Don’t worry, I brought spares.”

He swings the backpack around to his front, and feels for the zip to the pocket where he stashed the extra batteries.

“Sandy,” he calls again, fumbling with the latch over the battery compartment on the torch. “Sandy? You there?”

There’s still no response; no shifting feet, no tap on Jack’s arm to let him know he’s still there.

“Sandy?”

Nothing. Sandy isn’t there. Have they gotten separated? How?

He finally slots the new batteries into place, and flicks the torch back on. It doesn’t work.

“Come on,” Jack complains, gritting his teeth and rapidly switching the torch on and off. These are brand new batteries! They should be working! “When did my life become a horror cliché?”

“Lost?”

Jack freezes. He doesn’t recognise the voice – soft, and smooth like velvet – but he _knows_ it’s not Sandy. A voice in the back of his mind says, ‘There’s one more cliché for you’. He ignores it, rapidly darting his gaze from one patch of shadow to the next. But the voice echoed, and he can’t pinpoint the source.

“Who’s there?” he calls warily. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. Baby Tooth makes a distressed noise, and he idly raises a hand to soothe her.

The ever-present heavy footfalls that have been following them seem to pick up in number, coming from all sides, but at best all Jack can see are dark blobs, definitely not humanoid in shape. Laboured breathing, like from a horse, fills the clearing.

“Haven’t you heard what happens to children who get lost in the woods?” the voice responds, ignoring Jack’s question.

He whips his head around to where he thinks it’s coming from. At the edge of the trees, one large blob is closer than the rest, and beside it is what looks like the silhouette of a human. Only taller.

Jack tries the torch again. It still refuses to work. Where the hell is Sandy? “I’m not lost,” he says.

“No,” muses the voice. “But your friend is.”

“I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a kid, then.”

The voice hums contemplatively.

Jack’s every instinct is telling him to run. And yeah, okay, maybe coming here was a bad idea. But this is the closest he’s come to a discovery and he’s not about to quit now.

“Who are you?” he tries again.

Their tone turns sharp, maliciously teasing. “Who do you think I am?”

Jack takes in the restless shadows around him, the unnatural lack of light, the bed frame he only got a few seconds to look at, the way his torch _still_ refuses to function. “Honestly, I’m kinda hoping you’re the Bogeyman.”

There’s a pause, then a confused, “You’re... hoping?”

Jack shrugs, regardless that it probably can’t be seen. “I mean, that _is_ the whole reason I came out here.” He squints at the figure’s silhouette, trying to make out any features besides ‘tall’. “So... _are_ you?”

“Do I _look_ like the Bogeyman?” the voice asks, sounding exasperated.

As if on cue, the torch flickers back to life.

Jack wastes no time aiming it in the figure’s direction. It’s a man. Tall, dressed entirely in black so dark he almost seems to blend into the shadows. His skin is so pale it looks grey, as if it’s been years since he’s seen any direct sunlight. The only colour on him at all are his eyes; a bright gold that almost appears to glow.

“Ah, damn,” he mutters. “Just a malnourished goth.” And he had his hopes up and everything.

He turns the torch to the space beside him, and with no small amount of confusion discovers that there’s nothing there. In fact, all of the shadows are gone now that the torch is working. Had he simply imagined them?

The man looks insulted. “I am _not_ a _goth_.”

Jack gives him a once-over. “If you say so,” he says disbelievingly. “Who are you, then?”

The man sneers at him, and steps back into the darkness dramatically. “Pitch Black,” once again his voice echoes. “The Nightmare King.”

“Ex-theatre kid,” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Some call me a monster,” the voice whispers in his ear. And then, from further back in the trees, “A Bogeyman.”

Ah. So the stories really were based in fact, just super inflated into something fantastical. Their exciting Bogeyman is just some random theatre goth who likes to hang out in the woods. That’s... a little disappointing, actually.

“You’re not very afraid,” the man says, sounding disgruntled and stepping out of the shadows to Jack’s right.

Jack turns lazily in his direction. “Of you? Nah. I’ve lived with people scarier than you.”

The man appraises him, and his expression is once again all sharp eyes and teeth. And wow, his teeth are _actually_ sharp. Maybe he should see a dentist about that. He could ask Tooth.

“No, you’re not afraid of me,” he drawls, amusement returning to his tone. “But you _are_ afraid of something.” He disappears again. “You’re afraid of being abandoned again. Afraid that the new life you’ve built for yourself will come tumbling down around you like so many pieces of a broken dream.”

Jack tenses. How does this guy know anything about that?

“After all,” the voice continues, coming from everywhere at once, “it’s happened before. It’s happening again right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack grounds out.

“Oh? Didn’t you come here with a friend?”

“That’s different.” It is. They just lost sight of each other, is all. Sandy didn’t abandon him. _Wouldn’t_ abandon him.

“Is it?” the man asks softly, once again standing in the shadows front of him. He reaches out, one impossibly cold hand wrapping around the one Jack is using to hold the torch. Jack finds himself unable to move as the torch is switched off. The man leans forward, whispering. “You’d best run home, Jack. While you still have a home to run to.”

Jack frantically steps backwards, switching the torch back on the second he feels the stranger’s hand release him. The light is almost blinding, and he’s forced to squint as he waves it around, searching for where the man has gone now. There’s no sign of him.

Something grabs his hoodie. Jack yanks it back, nearly dropping the torch in how quickly he points it at the cause, heart leaping into his throat.

Sandy steps back with a wince, one hand raised to shield his eyes, the other still holding Jack’s phone.

“Sandy!” Jack heaves a sigh of relief. “Where did you go?!”

Sandy is watching him worriedly. He signs so quickly that Jack only catches bits and pieces of it, but he thinks he gets the gist. Sandy had somehow lost sight of him, and has been looking for the last fifteen minutes, and is Jack okay?

“I’m fine,” he says, although he’s not quite sure it’s true. He’s feeling a little rattled, actually.

 _‘Did you find anything?_ ’ Sandy asks.

Jack glances back over his shoulder, but there’s nothing to see but vegetation. Even the hole in the ground and the bed frame he was so sure he saw is now gone. “Sort of. There was a really creepy goth here a minute ago, but I wouldn’t exactly call him Bogeyman material.” Even if he did know WAY more than made any kind of sense.

Sandy does not look at all relieved by this. He’s quick to insist they head back, and suddenly feeling very tired, Jack doesn’t fight him on it.

As they leave the clearing, Jack resists the urge to look back.

He doesn’t see the glowing eyes staring after them.


End file.
